"I love him."
"Amber, you haven't met him yet."
"I'm going to. Meet him, I mean. I'm going to right…now!"
"Then why aren't you moving?"
I struggled to drag my gaze off Sparkly Belt Kid to glare at my best friend, Ryn. "I'm taking my time, that's all."
Kathryn blinked her eyes back, icily steady but bursting with undercurrents of humor. She has the prettiest eyes—A shade of gray like an old-style computer mouse with thunderbolts of gold.
"Your time," Ryn said flatly. "Maybe you should go talk to Whitie-Tightie Kid in the meantime."
We couldn't hold it in any longer—both of us erupted into laughter.
"Girls are so weird," Dylan, our oddball calculator-obsessed guy friend said. We fought back our laughter, staring at him. I wiggled over a little on the cold monkey bars.
"So are guys," Ryn shot back without a blink.
We started laughing again.
"So," I breathed when we had recovered. "His belt is pretty sparkly, eh?"
"That's why he's called Sparkly Belt Kid." Ryn reminded me. I'm one of those people who is constantly in need of remindings.
I watched Sparkly Belt Kid's belt like a jeweler watches an untrustworthy customer. "Its so…so shiny!"
Kathryn didn't even bother speaking up this time. I heard a snort as Dylan humorously exhaled air.
"I should talk to him. I'm going to marry him, after all." I was rambling. I couldn't tear my eyes away from his belt as it ran back and forth across the sport court. Ryn, Dylan and I hung a safe distance back; I was perched on the top of the little-kid monkey bars, Ryn and Dylan on the ground. Along with Tom, Dylan's sidekick and our other guy friend.
Ryn started laughing again. "Aren't you supposed to marry Remy?"
"Oh yeah! I forgot about him!" I recalled Remy, another boy I had never met who I had declared my undying love to. That time, though, I hadn't even seen him, though. His name was just written on a progress report (AP physics, 81).
But, of course, get two teenage writers together and they'll make up the guy's personality. And declare they're going to marry him as well.
"Aren't you married already to the Man on the Moon?" Dylan asked.
I touched the silver good-luck band on my left hand's ring finger. "I'm cheating on him, 'member?"
"Oh. Of course." Dylan rolled his eyes.
I hopped from the monkey bars (twisting my ankle) and said, "I should go talk to him."
"Yes," Ryn agreed.
I started walking, then stopped. He had to be—oh, two or three years older if not more. I didn't really think I was going to talk to him, I just thought it would give Dylan, Tom, Ryn and I a good laugh (and Rose, when we told her the next day).
"Hey," I called to him weakly. The boys on the sport court didn't hear. They were packing up, walking back towards the high school.
Ryn giggled beside me. Louder this time I called, "I love you Sparkly Belt Kid!"
He had to—must have—heard. Laughing, not looking to check, Ryn and I ran to where we had left our backpacks.
"Did you do it?" Dylan asked though the question was purely rhetorical. He could see the answer on our red, laughing faces. He gave a snort again, turning around. "Girls are so weird."
I vowed that day never to forget Sparkly Belt Kid. Maybe I'll see him again—maybe not. But hopefully I will, just as I someday hope to meet my AP physics Remy and see my husband, the Man on the Moon, return home.
But for now I am content of staring and shouting. And telling the story. I can't wait to see Rose's face tomorrow. Even if she does reply "not again!"
Okay, I lied. This isn't fiction. It's non-fiction. Let's just say my friends and I have a LOT of fun people-watching.
This story goes out to Ryn, who is always in my adventures, to Rose who, even if she isn't in this story, will be one soon, and to Dylan, the best not-boyfriend boyfriend a girl could have. And yes, Tom, this one is even for you.
Thanks for reading!